


Bound To You

by PuppetMaster55



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Post-Kerberos Mission, Shance Big Bang 2017, a little bit extra blood than canon shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 22:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12443667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppetMaster55/pseuds/PuppetMaster55
Summary: Out of all the possibilities Lance expected out of his career as a pilot, making first contact wasn't one of them. Neither was becoming Earth's ambassador, or sealing Earth's inclusion into the Galra Empire with a marriage.Lance really wasn't expecting his future spouse to be Takashi Shirogane, the supposedly dead pilot.





	Bound To You

**Author's Note:**

> It's here! The shance big bang is here!! It's a minor canon divergence where Shiro didn't escape and Earth enters the Galra Empire in a slightly different way.
> 
> Also, enjoy THIS AMAZING ARTWORK THAT GOES WITH THIS: https://corgioki.tumblr.com/post/166644462167/my-first-set-of-pieces-for-the-shance-big-bang 
> 
> Also also, pheebs are years.

Lance looked up at the lights shining down the shaft, and let out a shaky breath. He stood in the middle of the platform, surrounded by five superior officers—three of them from the Galaxy Garrison, strangely enough—and then by three robotic soldiers, armed with blasters.

Commander Iverson leaned forward, lone eyes staring out into dead space as he whispered in Lance's ear. “Remember your training. There's a lot riding on you getting this right, Major.”

Lance dry swallowed, not trusting himself to speak, not trusting himself to nod. He merely stood at attention as they entered the stadium, trying not to blink against the sudden harsh lighting too badly. So far all he'd encountered had been the soft purple lighting, and while it was easy on the eyes and sometimes a strain to see, it left him feeling disoriented as the lights shone down on him, and he wanted nothing more than to hold up a hand, to shield his eyes.

But he couldn't, because a raised hand was tantamount to declaring war.

And Earth couldn't afford to go to war against an intergalactic empire. Not when the alternative was an alliance, brokered with Lance in mind as the gesture of good faith.

This was not how he expected his life to go, when he'd gotten into the early flight program to drop supplies for the future Europa colony. He never expected to be the one to initiate first contact, never expected to end up Earth's ambassador, never expected to–

Marriage. The Galra marked the inclusion of a planet with sufficiently advanced civilization with a marriage.

Lance was going to be married, and he had yet to actually meet his spouse. All he had to go on were tales of the Champion, tales of their strength, of their ferocity, of how all eyes of the Empire had turned toward the Champion, had turned toward Earth.

The crowd cheered as Lance stepped forward, two of the soldiers on either side, the heat of the lights and the high oxygen of the place making Lance feel woozy. He couldn't look back at Iverson, at any of the other humans, couldn't look away as he was led toward the dais to one end of the stadium. Instead, he stared forward, at the figures already on the dais.

Emperor Zarkon was huge, taller than any other Galra, at least twice the size of Lance (he wasn't exaggerating, Lance had been generous when he said that he went up to the Galra's elbow, and even then the long limbs of the species threw off everyone's assumed proportions of the species), and decked in armor that made him look even larger. Lance had heard Professor Montgomery muse that the Galra might be similar to snakes, in that they kept growing until death. If that were true, then Zarkon had to be the oldest of them all, standing at well over three meters when the others he'd met were a little over two meters each.

Beside Zarkon was Haggar, draped in the richly purple robes and face hidden by her hood. She was smaller still than Zarkon (granted, _everyone_ was smaller than Zarkon), but still taller than humans, lithe and with eyes that seemed to glow through the shadow cast by her hood. Of the two, Lance had had the fortune of meeting Haggar more than Zarkon, alongside a Commander Prorok.

Of the two, Lance was more terrified of Haggar. After all, he could understand technology, but Haggar used something that he couldn't deny was magic. Even Haggar herself called it magic, performing feats that defied even the most basic laws of physics and even thermodynamics (which Lance had listened to Hunk talk his ear off about, when Haggar's underlings had teleported into the room and left the same way without even the slightest discharge of energy or sign of displaced matter). It was how he was able to understand them, from the translator spell placed upon him.

Out of all the ways he expected the universe to surprise him, magic had not been one of them. Even his superiors back on Earth were loathe to admit that magic was real when it seemed to be the driving power anywhere that wasn't Earth. It was and continued to be a source of heated debate, and Lance was more than glad to be kept away from that whole issue.

Even if it meant that he had to stay here, in the central command ship of the empire, as ambassador and spouse to one of the Galra.

“Welcome, Lance of Earth,” Zarkon rumbled, his voice soft but carrying far. There wasn't even much of an echo in the ensuing silence, and it left a chill creeping up Lance's back. It still felt like far too much for the Emperor of the Known Universe to be present at the marriage of a new planet, especially one that was so technologically behind as Earth. “It is the Empire's greatest pleasure to include your system into our ever-expanding borders. To that end, a marriage is in order. It has been many pheebs since last we played host to a marriage.”

Of course, Lance realized. There wouldn't be cause for many marriages with such a military as the Galra seemed to have.

Lance looked up at Zarkon, who turned his attention down upon the human.

“It's a great honor to be included in this mighty empire,” Lance replied, recalling the words he'd been coached through. “Your greatness is only exceeded by this kindness.”

He couldn't mess this up, couldn't ruin this alliance. This was a piece of Earth history, one that would define the very future of his planet.

Zarkon nodded, satisfied. He gestured to the side. “This joining is one that will benefit both our Empire and your system. Bring out the Champion.”

Lance looked over at the side, where a door opened out of the wall, revealing a small figure, human-sized and decked in heavy armor, stepped forward flanked by two of the robotic drones. A helmet covered the Champion's head entirely, the visor tinted so Lance couldn't see their face. The Champion's head turned this way and that, scanning the stadium. Their shoulders were squared, back stiff, and he walked forward steadily, warily. They looked like a spooked animal more than a person, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.

Finally, the Champion's gaze crossed over to the raised dais, and Lance swore that they spotted him in particular, that their gaze was locked onto him and not Zarkon or Haggar. The Champion froze in place, before lashing out at the drone to their right. They slammed into the drone, knocking it off its feet and taking hold of the blaster. Lance stiffened, remaining still as they held the blaster in their left hand, blasting several holes in the other drone as their right arm raised in a fist to punch the downed drone. The action took less than five seconds, a brutal efficiency that terrified Lance. _This_ was who he was meant to marry?

The Champion stiffened, freezing in place as their right hand glowed purple, fizzing with black electricity. The blaster clattered to the ground, the Champion following. The Champion convulsed, curling in around the glowing hand as if in intense pain. More drones appeared, slamming into the Champion and pinning them down. Even from so far away, the sound of the Champion slamming into the ground echoed like it hurt.

“Do not harm him,” Zarkon commanded, drawing Lance's attention. “The betrothed are to be treated with care. Bring him here. He will not resist again.”

_Oh_ , Lance was being married off to a guy. He was about to become some sort of trophy husband—or, possibly, it was the other way around. The specifics of Lance's duties as Earth's ambassador hadn't been disclosed to him, and he had yet to meet any other ambassadors. Lance really wasn't sure what to make of that, and it wasn't helping that he had been kept in quarantine with the rest of his traveling party.

The drones hefted the Champion up, his hand's glow fading away to reveal gleaming metal—a prosthetic, and one far too human-looking. Lance knew, from the Galra he'd met so far, that aliens could look humanoid, but the Champion gave Lance the impression that he was something eerily familiar. The Champion was set on his feet, the drones keeping a solid hold on his arms and shoulders, and frog-marched him toward the dais, toward Lance.

“Presenting our two who shall be joined as one,” Zarkon announced, once the Champion was close enough for Lance to see that they were similar in height, to see that the metal gleam of his hand extended far up his arm, stopping halfway between the elbow and shoulder. The drones let go of the Champion, taking their places two steps behind him as he crossed the final distance, standing beside Lance. “Lance of Earth, and our deeply beloved Champion. Upon this quintant, they shall become as one.”

Lance took that as his cue, turning toward the Champion, tilting his head to the right and leaning in close. The Champion mirrored the action, and Lance almost shivered at the sensation of something alive so close to his neck, but without the connected feeling of breath against his skin. He couldn't see the Champion's skin either, and for a brief moment figured that whoever he was, he might come from a planet with a different atmosphere than Lance's, than the Galra.

“I am yours,” Lance murmured, the words recalled from rote memory. “As you are mine. I bare my throat to you as a gesture of deference.”

He pressed his lips against the warm fabric of the armor, right over where the pulse would be. He shivered when, after a moment, he felt the chill glass of the helmet press against his own pulse. They remained there for what felt like forever, before pulling away as one. Still, the Champion said nothing, and Lance began to worry that maybe he was mute as well. Would he have to learn some kind of sign language unique to the Champion's planet?

“Here,” Zarkon rumbled, holding out a black dagger between Lance and the Champion. “Let the bond of blood commence!”

Lance took the blade in hand, looking directly at the Champion as he pressed the edge against the palm of his hand. In one sharp movement, Lance winced in pain from the slash on his hand. Red blood looked brighter against the deep black of the metal, almost gleaming as it dripped down. Turning the blade around, he held it out for the Champion to take. When he didn't move to take it, Lance nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying not to show his discomfort.

“Champion,” Zarkon growled in warning, and the Champion snatched the blade, slicing through his suit and the palm of his left hand in one quick gesture. Red blood now dripped from both sides, and Lance held his hand out, bleeding palm facing up, while his other hand curled around the Champion's metal one, helping to grip the dagger. The Champion mirrored the gesture, and their fingers splayed and slid between one another. He guided the Champion into pointing the blade down, letting the blood drip down into the rune-covered bowl Zarkon held out. “Through blood shared they are bonded, now and to the end of life.”

The crowd cheered, and Lance looked up at the Champion, wishing that he could see a face, could know what was running through the other person's mind.

“In public their vows are completed,” Zarkon continued, taking the dagger from their hands and holding it high. “And now they shall take their leave for the exchange of food, and the final consummation of this marriage. The Empire welcomes the Terra System into its borders. Long shall we be prosperous. Vrepit sa.”

“Vrepit sa,” Lance echoed, his voice lost amidst the entire stadium repeating the chant, still not looking away from the Champion. He could do this, he was already married by this point. All they had left was to share a meal and... consummation.

Oh, crow, Lance hoped that they were incompatible.

The guards stepped forward, and Lance pulled his hand away from the Champion's, threading their arms together as they were led out of the stadium. He kept his face forward, but stole glances every so often as they were led down hallways and into elevators and down more hallways, before stopping in front of a large door. One of the drones placed its hand upon the pad beside it, where it beeped, letting the door open.

His hand ached and throbbed from the pain, the cut left untended. Lance stepped inside, looking back at the drones warily before the door slid shut. He felt more like a prisoner than anything else.

The Champion pulled away from him, wandering around the room, taking it all in. It looked like a huge hotel room, with a massive bathroom off to the left and a kitchen off to the right. The bed was similarly huge, circular with deep blue curtains and richly purple bedding that, even from so far away, looked smoother than silk. It was all so lavish that he forgot his situation, was taken in by the wonder of the place. Lance was sure that if he looked, he'd find more rooms—a closet, at least, with clothes the Galra provided for him alongside his own, and someplace to eat, and maybe someplace for guests to stay when his family visited, and–

And the Champion's own things, too. Because this wasn't just Lance's life anymore, wasn't just Lance's bed, wasn't just his place to live. He wasn't alone in his life. How would he even explain this marriage to his family? How would he explain his, his– his _husband_?

The Champion rushed out of the bathroom, gingerly holding a roll of gauze and a container of teal goop. He moved toward the bed, setting them atop the sheets before beckoning for Lance to come.

Warily, Lance moved toward him, before realizing that the Champion wanted to bandage up his hand. Moving along, he paused, reaching up to take off his military coat, wincing when it pulled on his injured hand. Tossing the coat aside, Lance ignored the clatter the colonel's patch made against the floor. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lance looked over the gauze, surprised to see that, even with all the advanced tech the Galra had, they were still so simple in their medical treatments.

The Champion reached out, carefully taking Lance's injured hand in his own, and popped open the container of goop. Lance made a face at the harsh smell, nose wrinkling in disgust, before scrunching his eyes closed in anticipation of the pain.

“It's okay.” Lance froze, eyes snapping open as he looked at the Champion in shock. His voice was distorted by the helmet, sounding deeper and more robotic, but he was clearly heard. “It has a numbing component. It won't hurt you.”

The Champion dipped two fingers of his right hand into the goop, coming up with a small amount before applying it to Lance's palm. He flinched at the sudden gesture, and the Champion froze.

“I won't hurt you,” the Champion gently said. “I would never hurt you.”

Lance watched as the teal goo was smeared over his cut, amazed at how it didn't hurt, and shocked at how gently the Champion was.

“You can talk?” Lance asked, eyes snapping out to stare at the helmet in shock. “Do you even need to wear that helmet? Can you take it off?”

“I could,” the Champion replied, his voice soft. The glass turned away from Lance, and he had the impression that he was missing another important expression. Lance needed to see the Champion's face, needed to know what he was thinking. “But I don't want you to see.”

“Maybe I want to see,” Lance offered, reaching up with his free hand. The Champion reached out, grabbing Lance's hand with his own.

“Don't,” the Champion whispered. “Please.”

The hand pulled away, leaving a smear of blood behind. Lance followed along as the Champion wrapped Lance's hand, before lashing out, taking hold of the Champion's left hand by the wrist, turning so the still-bleeding palm was face up.

“You can't hide from me,” Lance calmly said, dipping his fingers into the teal goop. “You shouldn't. We're– we're married now. We shouldn't keep things from each other. Isn't that how marriage works on your planet?”

The Champion barked out something that was almost like laughter. “It is, I suppose. I haven't been back there in a long time. I don't know how things have changed.”

Lance carefully slid the goop along the slice in the glove, before sighing. “Well, it's how things are done on my planet. If you want this wrapped up, you're going to have to take off this armor.”

“I don't want you to see,” the Champion repeated, making to pull his hand away, but Lance held firm.

“There's a whole thing about what we want and what we need back on Earth,” Lance replied, reaching up for the helmet. “And you need someone to wrap this gauze.”

“Please,” the Champion quietly offered. “Let me do this on my own.”

“Our lives are connected now,” Lance sadly replied, looking down at the Champion's wounded hand, at his own bandaged hand. “We don't have to do everything on our own anymore.”

The Champion stared at Lance—or, he thought he did—before reaching up for the helmet. “Please,” he pleaded, “Don't freak out.”

Lance reached out, taking the Champion's hand away. He unclasped the helmet, pulling it off. The first thing he saw was pale skin, paler than was normal, before he focused on the face, and froze.

Takashi Shirogane, the lost pilot of the Kerberos Exploration Team, smiled sadly at Lance.

“What?” Lance breathed, dropping the helmet onto the bed. “How?”

Lance took the features in—beyond the paled skin, there was a lock of white hair in the center of his bangs, and a scar on the middle of his face, traveling from under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. He looked older, looked exhausted, looked–

Alive.

Takashi Shirogane was _alive_.

* * *

Lance breathed out, wheezing as the shock bled away. Takashi Shirogane— _the_ Takashi Shirogane, pride of the Galaxy Garrison, supposedly dead in the failed expedition to Kerberos, stared at him from across the bed, looking faintly apologetic.

“It's a lot to take in,” Takashi Shirogane murmured, glancing from Lance to the discarded helmet. “I could put the helmet back on if you–”

“No!” Lance cried, throwing his hands out at Taka– at his husband. He looked from his husband to the helmet. Breathing out, Lance nodded to himself. “This isn't what you look like. You're, like, some kind of shapeshifting species with, with psychic abilities, yeah? That's it.” Lance nodded to himself. “That's why you look like a dead person. It only works when someone's looking at you, which is why you wanted to wear the helmet. You never look like yourself when you're with anyone, and–”

“Hey.” Lance's husband reached out, taking hold of his frantically gesturing hands. The gesture shut him up, allowing his husband to smile at him, gentle and sad. “I'm the real deal. Takashi Shirogane, human. Just like you.” He paused. “Lance, right?”

“Yeah,” Lance replied, nodding. “You're really him?”

“Unless I'm my own evil clone,” Takashi Shirogane replied with a wan smile. Lance barked out a laugh before freezing, staring at his husband in mild alarm and suspicion. “I'm not! No evil clones here.”

“That's exactly what an evil clone would say,” Lance retorted, leaning back.

“How could they even make a clone of me anyway?” Takashi Shirogane—which, Lance wasn't sure how he should address the man, and was wary of simply _asking_ at this point in the conversation—huffed. He went to lean back, and winced when weight went on his left hand. Sitting up straight, he coughed. “They'd need DNA first.”

“Fine.” Lance grinned. “Then if you're really the original, then how about telling me who the commander stationed at the Galaxy Garrison is.”

“Iverson,” Takashi Shirogane replied with a roll of his eyes. “He had to have it out for me or something. I think he hated how good I was at flying. Or he liked using me to demean all the kids that got in on recommendation or because they had alumni for family.”

“You're the real deal,” Lance sagely said, nodding matter-of-factly. He smiled. “It's good to know that I'm not the only one he singled out and made an example of.” Lance's smile turned bittersweet. “Shows what he knows—I made first contact! Got Earth a good deal joining this whole empire shindig.”

“What?” Takashi Shirogane—and okay, Lance was definitely going to ask what to call him, because referring to the guy by full name in his head was exhausting already—yelped, grabbing Lance by the shoulders. “You're not– this isn't– Lance, what are you talking about?”

“Uh.” Lance peeled his husband's hands off his shoulders, distantly noting how strong and firm they were. Taking hold of the left hand again, Lance tugged at the sleeve of the armor, searching for some way for it to come off. The cut still needed bandaging, and Lance wasn't going to let that slide. “I mean, it's not that glamorous. Me and my team were making a supply run for the proposed research station on Europa when our systems went down. Solar flare took out pretty much everything that wasn't life support or manual steering. The whole thing was touch and go, and we were forced to jury rig a signal out on all channels. The Galra came by and saved us and General Haxok was pretty gracious about it. He said that he was exploring the area and was more than happy to declare me Earth's ambassador and have Earth join in on the empire.” Lance frowned, pulling the sleeve until it came away. “That's what our marriage was all about. Didn't you hear?”

“I–” Takashi Shirogane shook his head, looking far too lost and scared for Lance's liking. “No. I didn't. Out in the arena, I couldn't hear– look, Lance, Earth isn't safe. The Galra are–”

His mouth snapped shut when the door slid open, letting a Galra soldier—a real one, not one of the robotic drones—inside. He carried with him a massive floating tray, holding all sorts of foods.

“Mealtime,” the soldier said, sounding like he'd rather be doing anything but this. The soldier barely spared Lance a glance before his gaze fell on the unmasked Takashi Shirogane—seriously, he had to decide what name to call his husband, this was getting ridiculous—and froze. “Oh. Uh... here's your food. On the tray... right here...”

The soldier nudged the tray closer to Lance and Shirogane (Lance had decided, until told otherwise, that he should at the very least _try_ to be respectful) before shuffling backwards toward the door. Placing his hand on the pad beside it, it buzzed, startling the soldier before he whirled around, placing his hand on the pad again, fingers facing up. The door opened, and the soldier all but ran from the room.

“What was that?” Lance asked, looking from the door to Shirogane—who glanced down, abashed. “Do you have a reputation here?”

He should have realized as much. Shirogane wasn't dead, which meant that he'd either been trapped on Kerberos alone like that guy from _The Martian_ , until General Haxok picked him up, or he'd been picked up a while back. Lance wasn't willing to bet on the former, otherwise Haxok would have said as much.

“It's not a good one,” Shirogane dryly replied, pulling away before Lance had the chance to wrap his hand. “Come on. Let's eat while the food is here.”

Lance kept up his frown, turning a thoughtful look on Shirogane as he grabbed the gauze and followed along. Shirogane took the tray and led it over to the kitchen, which was much more spacious than Lance had to give it credit for. A side door led off, and Shirogane went that way, while Lance dug through what he was pretty sure was the fridge for something to drink. Coming away with a jug of richly red juice, Lance turned to join Shirogane in the dining room.

The table was small, with two chairs sized for Galra, and Shirogane sat to one side, the tray in front of him, half of the food—and it was a lot, there was a massive bread bowl the size of a punch bowl, filled to the brim with a too-sweet smelling stew, and something that looked like a roasted turkey, if turkeys had no wings, thighs three times larger than normal, and four breasts—in front of him as he ravenously dug into it, using his hands to tear into everything.

“Starving?” Lance weakly offered, and Shirogane hummed in agreement, shoving the rest of the tray at Lance.

“Eat,” Shirogane ordered. “It's better that you do. I don't know when the next meal is.”

“Do you want some...” Lance trailed off, looking at the jug before shrugging in defeat. He filled two cups, sliding one closer“Juice, I guess?”

“Please,” Shirogane said, and grabbing the proffered cup and downing half of it in one go.

“Slow down there,” Lance said, watching Shirogane go back to the food with all the grace of a starving animal. “If you eat like that it'll all come back up.”

Shirogane paused, slowing his chewing as he looked up and at Lance, as if noticing him for the first time. Slowly, he nodded. “You're right. You're right. I should... I've got time.” He shook his head, gesturing at the tray. “You should eat too.”

“And I am,” Lance replied, sitting down at the table and grabbing a little of everything. With the shock and anxiety of the marriage done, Lance's nerves had left behind a gaping hole in the shape of his stomach, and he more than wanted to eat his fill. “Just slower than you're going, apparently. Cool your jets.”

Shirogane frowned, but continued to eat at a more normal pace. He still kept his plate of food pressed close, but he didn't shovel it all in like it was going out of style. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?” Lance asked, digging into his not-turkey breast. He hummed in surprise and appreciation at the spice that came with the meat, and grinned between bites. “It's not like I should expect table manners here or something. I've got a little niece and nephew, and another two on the way. It's a lucky night if they even remember that forks and spoons exist.”

“Not for that,” Shirogane said, pausing. Lance took the gauze, reaching out for Shirogane's hand. Gently taking hold of it once more, he started to bandage the cut. “You being here. I'm sorry I couldn't escape and warn Earth.”

Lance tied off the gauze, frowning up at Shirogane. “Warn Earth? About what?”

“The Galra,” Shirogane hissed, looking around warily. He leaned closer, voice lowering to a whisper. “They're evil, Lance. The Kerberos mission—they took us prisoner. Me and Matt were thrown to the arena, Commander Holt was taken away to a labor camp. I got Matt out early on, but I haven't seen either of them since.”

“What?” Lance blinked. “Man, Pidge will have a field day with this. Dude, if the Galra are so bad, then why did they even bother saving my ship?”

“I don't know,” Shirogane looked down. “But whatever it is they want with Earth, it isn't good. They drain planets of resources and take people prisoner. The Galra destroy everything they come into contact with. Lance, we're getting out of here.”

Dread settled in Lance's stomach, hearing all of this. He thought of his family, still back on Earth, thought of Pidge and Hunk, who'd been separated from him the moment he set foot on the command ship. He thought of Iverson, Montgomery, Harris, and the two officials from the U.N.

“What do we do?” he asked, feeling like he'd just been tossed off a boat and into the depths of the ocean. Lance was a very good swimmer, and was more than skilled at adapting to new situations.

“We're going to break out,” Shirogane replied, voice barely more than a hush. “I know someone who can help, but it's going to take some time now that I'm not alone.”

“There's other humans here—the commanders I came here with, and my team. Hunk and Pidge are here too. I can't just–” Lance shook his head. “I'm not leaving them here too.”

“Let me worry about that,” Shirogane said, looking Lance in the eye. He took hold of Lance's shaking hands, steadying them. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Lance. You're going to be safe.”

Lance nodded, focusing on Shirogane's hands, on Shirogane's eyes, and how both were warm and firm and made Lance feel at peace. “I don't even know your name. What do I call you?”

“Most people call me Shiro,” he replied, smiling. Lance thought that Shiro had a nice smile. “It's a lot to take in, I know. But I promise that you're going to be fine. I'm going to keep you safe.”

* * *

They spent the night apart in bed, Lance on one end while Shiro curled up at the other. Sleep came fitfully, both because of how foreign the place was, and because every time Lance finally started to doze off, Shiro would jolt awake and begin pacing, or doing push-ups or sit-ups or taking up a fighting stance in the middle of the room and go through a few dozen punches and high kicks (and _wow_ were they high, leaving Lance to wonder how fit and flexible Shiro had become). Each time Shiro worked until he was sweating, and then crawled back into bed and fell back into a light sleep.

Exhaustion and the overly comfortable bed finally won sleep over for Lance, and when he woke up for good, Shiro was gone. The armor he'd discarded by the bathroom door was gone as well, and any evidence that Shiro had even been there was the neatly folded pajamas laying atop his side of the bed. Which was also neatly folded into place.

Lance frowned, staring at the pajamas in confusion as he sat up. He knew he was a deep sleeper, but he was certain that he wasn't _that_ deep of a sleeper. Surely he would have heard Shiro getting up again, or picking up the armor to put on (they'd both agreed to respect each other's privacy and change in the bathroom, although Shiro sounded more like he was respecting Lance's privacy more than his own), or felt the bed being made on Shiro's side.

“Still not the worst marriage I could have gotten into,” Lance muttered, grateful that he'd lucked into marrying a human and not another species. Not that he would have minded, but at least with a human Lance understood what to expect and had a fair idea of the pace they could go at. Plus, it helped that they were both male, and that childbirth wasn't expected of them. Lance was twenty, and didn't feel ready to be a parent (he didn't feel ready to be a parent _ever_ , really, preferring to remain an uncle).

Slipping out of bed, Lance opened up the closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a tee, along with snagging his sneakers. With one glance at the door, Lance slipped into the bathroom to change, not trusting anyone to not walk in while he was half-dressed.

After getting dressed, and making the bed, Lance sat at the table, squinting at the remains of the cold bread bowl as he ate the last of it, using his spork to dig into the bowl. His day was completely free, with Commander Prorok promising to allow him two quintants to bond with his spouse before his duties as Earth's ambassador were needed.

The front door slid open, allowing a Galra officer to step inside. He looked older, with streaks of gray in his fur, and carried several tablets under one arm. Lance wiped his mouth clean, stuffing the remains of the bread bowl back into the fridge before heading out to greet the visitor.

“Greetings, young human,” the Galra began, his free arm moving to cover his heart before hesitating. Stretching out his hand, Lance raised an eyebrow before taking it, shaking it once before letting go. The Galra nodded, bemused but satisfied. “You have such strange practices. I am Lieutenant Thace, a communications officer under Commander Prorok. I have been assigned to teach you what you need to know to survive.”

Lance frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion at that wording. What he needed to survive? Shaking the thought—and the stab of dread in his gut, as he recalled Shiro's words from the night before—away, Lance nodded. He gestured toward the table. “I'd be glad to have you. And it's a funny story how humans learned to shake hands. It's because if we're holding each other's hands, then we're not holding weapons. At least, not in _those_ hands.”

“Is that so?” Thace hummed, although he sounded detached, drawing no amusement from the situation. Lance figured that he, like the soldier from before, had only come under orders. “That is a very strange practice.”

“I don't think it's actually true,” Lance admitted. “I just read it once as a kid, and it sounded funny enough that it could be true.”

“I see,” Thace dryly replied, clearly not understanding. Lance wondered if Galra even had a sense of humor close to what humans had. What did they do for entertainment? The tablets were spread out across the table, and Lance squinted when he touched the nearest one, a hologram popping up of a cartoonish Galra bouncing in place, grinning up at him as it declared that it would teach him the script.

“Is this a kids book?” Lance asked, leaning back as he frantically tried to shut down the cartoonish Galra. “Like a Hooked On Phonics thing?”

“These are a number of learning algorithms and some basic reading material meant to teach you how to read Galran script.” Thace stared up a Lance, unamused. “It is the first of your duties as Earth's ambassador.”

“I thought I had a couple quintants left before I had to do all this?” Lance gestured at the tablets, not bringing himself to look even vaguely offended. He'd taken language courses in the past, and knew that it wasn't personal, that his language learning software and reading were simplistic. It was how things worked. “Or did I misunderstand how galactic standard time works?”

“You did not.” Here, Thace almost seemed irritated. “Under ordinary circumstances, you and your bonded would be allowed several quintants—often a full spicolian movement—before either of you would be tasked with your duties. Unfortunately, the Champion's duties cannot wait, and it was determined that your duties as Earth's ambassador could not afford to be held off.”

“So, no space honeymoon then.” Lance nodded along, understanding. He reached out, pulling the nearest tablet toward him. It opened up to reveal a picture book of something that looked like a cross between a bear and a goose. Lance blinked at how the creature made a not-at-all-cute sounding roar and tried to swipe his head off, and shut off the tablet. “What are we starting with?”

Thace pushed the first tablet forward, and the cartoonish Galra popped back up. “The letters that make up the Galra script. We will be going over them until you can recall any one and in any order.”

“Cool, cool.” Lance paused. “This isn't going to be like learning English, is it? With pronunciation changing depending on the word the letter is in?”

Thace blinked, taken aback. He tilted his head, looking at Lance curiously. “No. Galran script was created with the intent of being easily understood. Now, let us begin with _Va_.”

* * *

Shiro hadn't come back that night.

Lance had spent most of the day learning the Galra alphabet (because that's what it was, Thace's insistence that it was a script flowing in one ear and out the other) and doing exercises that amounted to games to show that he'd learned it. Mostly, this entailed a version of word search where he had to find the specific letter—every time it appeared in the jumble, with points lost for every one he missed. Lance could now reliably say that he could recognize the Galra alphabet.

Thace had left him almost amused, and definitely impressed. Lance had, even by the standards of the smartest species known to the universe, picked up the Galra alphabet (“ _Script_ ,” Thace had tiredly and insistently corrected) remarkably fast. That knowledge left Lance feeling proud of himself, even if Thace had left behind several programs for Lance to go over.

Left alone, the apartment's emptiness became even more apparent. Without Shiro or Thace there, Lance could really see how large his new home was, and it felt colder, for some reason. He'd come from a large family, and not even back in the Galaxy Garrison had Lance been left totally alone. With his family, the house had been filled with life, had the presence of being undeniably lived-in. With the Garrison, there had been his roommate Hunk, and even in the dorms there was a sense that he was not entirely alone, despite how much he missed the sounds and presence of his family. The same had been said of his cargo mission, being stuck in closer quarters with Hunk and Pidge as they traveled. He'd had his crew.

Lance froze, halfway toward the kitchen.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Shiro wasn't alone. He had a crew with him.”

A science crew—the Holts. Senior Commander Holt, a mechanical engineer and physicist, and his son, Officer Holt, a biologist and technician. They had gone up with Shiro, had been his whole reason for heading to Kerberos, and had gone missing alongside him.

Where had they gone? Had the Galra Empire pulled them off of the faraway moon too? Where were they now, if that was the case?

Lance didn't want to think the worst of the Galra, didn't want to think about whether there was any truth to Shiro's words. If there was, then Lance had become the face of Earth's oppressors. If Shiro was telling the truth, then Lance had been the one to put his own planet in danger beyond any capability to protect itself. He'd invited it in the door, almost.

Lance didn't want to think like that. He didn't want to believe Shiro, didn't want to believe that he'd put his planet– that he'd put his _family_ in unimaginable danger. But...

Shiro was alive. He was alive, and had been in the care of the Galra for a year. It stood to reason that his crew was alive too, was scattered within the empire as well. And Earth hadn't known about it—if anyone had, if the Galaxy Garrison or NASA had, then Lance surely would have been told that he wasn't actually the first to make contact with an alien species.

So why, then, had the Galra saved Shiro and his crew and then not taken them to Earth? Why wait so long before returning to Earth's solar system?

Nothing was adding up, and it frustrated Lance.

* * *

Shiro still hadn't come back when a guard came for Lance. He'd been told—practically _ordered_ —to put on the soldier's armor found in his closet and then that he was to be escorted to Commander Prorok. Lance tried to ask why, but got dismissed, and the guard wouldn't leave, so Lance took the armor and changed in the bathroom (which, what else was new – maybe the Galra just had no concept of modesty).

Afterward, the guard escorted Lance into a small room where Commander Prorok glared at him, one of the roaming floating bots at one side and Thace at the other.

“You're being given a script to follow,” Prorok began, sounding far too condescending for Lance's tastes. “It's been carefully translated into your Earthen script, since it will be at least one pheeb before you're even considered capable of understanding the Galra standard.”

Lance felt his hackles raise in defense, but quelled it and put on a chagrined expression. He knew the truth—Thace's surprise at how quickly Lance picked up the Galra alphabet had been genuine, and his praise sincere. All Lance needed to do was prove Prorok wrong. Humans were far greater than he had any way of knowing, and Lance was greater than he had any way of knowing. Lance _would_ prove Prorok wrong.

“The... immersion of your system into the empire has not gone quite as smoothly for Commander Haxok as hoped,” Thace elaborated when Prorok continued to glare at Lance. He tapped the pad before him, handing it over to Lance. “This message is intended to inspire those among your system to more readily accept the Galra Empire. The roamer here,” Thace gestured at the floating bot, “is set to record your testimonial. Be swift, be honest, and most of all, be sincere. We all wish for a smooth transition here.”

Lance nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Thace guided him to stand before the small window, letting the stars frame him. The roamer floated along, beeping intermittently, and Lance looked right at it. He forced himself to calm down, swallowed any nervousness he had. This wasn't something he could mess up, not if he wanted to maintain the safety of Earth, of his family.

Thace gestured, stepping behind the roamer, and it beeped. Lance glanced directly at Thace, where English popped up, slowly scrolling along.

“Citizens of Earth,” Lance began, letting out a deep breath. “I am Major Lance Estevez of the Galaxy Garrison, Ambassador of Earth to the Galra Empire. I come to you today to ask that you cease hostilities against Commander Haxok and allow the Galra into your lives. The Galra Empire exists for the safety and betterment of– of all within its borders. We should be so lucky that Earth is now counted among that. I understand– I _know_ that it's terrifying, but the Galra want only the best for us. We should be blessed to have them among us, improving the livelihood of our planet and ourselves. I know that I am blessed by this opportunity, and you should feel that way too.

“Being divided only makes us weaker,” Lance continued, and Prorok nodded along, almost approvingly. Thace stared at Lance the entire time, impassive. Lance tried to feel the passion, but he could barely muster up enough energy to seem interested in what he was saying. “Only when we are united, and only under the leadership of the Galra and Lord Zarkon, can we truly prosper. Welcome the Galra Empire into your lives as I have. This is our future, and we must accept it. The Galra are good. The Galra will protect us, and under their guidance we shall see an era of peace never before known on Earth. Vrepit sa.”

The roamer beeped, satisfied, and Prorok left the room, the roamer trailing after him. Lance took a deep breath, letting it out as he tried to control his shaking. Something about the words hadn't seemed right to him, and he felt faintly ill.

“You did well,” Thace said, walking over and patting Lance on the head. The act made him feel almost like a child again, and it left Lance wondering if maybe it was a common thing among the Galra to pat those smaller than them on the head. He deftly ignored the way it made a warm bubble swell in his chest. “I was unsure that the translation would be adequate.”

“It was... something,” Lance loosely agreed. Thace walked alongside him, leading him back down the path to his room. “What does Shiro do here?”

Thace hummed, glancing at Lance speculatively. “Shiro?”

“My– my mate?” Lance tested the word on his mouth, and grimaced at how strange it sounded. He'd been married for less than a day and everything was already weird. “You call him the Champion. What does he do here?”

Lance thought about Shiro's scar, about Shiro's prosthetic hand, about how violent Shiro had been in the stadium. He remembered the guard from the night before, who'd been so terrified to be in the same room with Shiro.

“Don't worry too much about that,” Thace comforted Lance, watching him out of the corner of his eye. “If he hasn't told you himself, I don't think he would want me doing so.”

Lance frowned at Thace, annoyed at how he'd dodged the question. “I got told I was being married off to your strongest fighter. And you only know Shiro as the Champion. What is he the Champion _of_ , exactly? Who is he fighting?”

Thace stopped, looking down at Lance in concern. After a moment, he turned back, continuing down the hallway. “I will answer you another time. It's too soon.”

Lance's frown deepened, but he continued to follow Thace back to his room. What did Thace mean when he said that it was too soon?

* * *

Lance was setting out dinner when the door opened. Shiro stalked into their apartment, shaking as he moved toward the closet. His armor was gone, and he was left in his dark underarmor, a soaking wet purple shirt over it. His right arm was fully visible, gleaming metal crawling up Shiro's arm and stopping halfway between his elbow and shoulder. Lance wondered how much of Shiro's arm had been lost, and when it happened, and how it happened, and he shuddered.

“Shiro?” Lance called out, tentatively. Shiro started, looking around wildly before his eyes settled on Lance. The glassiness of his eyes, however, had Lance pausing in concern. A cut stretched against his jawline, and his lip was split. He looked awful, like he'd just come out of a nasty fight. “Is everything alright?”

Shiro blinked, awareness returning into his gaze, his features softening as he looked around the room. He nodded, letting out a harsh breath. “Yeah. It is.”

Lance's mouth twisted in distaste at the awful lie.

“You know,” Lance began, his tone conversational, “marriages usually don't last long when everyone involved starts out lying to each other.” He nodded toward the bathroom, and Shiro looked from it to Lance in confusion. “Get cleaned up and decide how much you want to tell me and how much I need to get out of you.”

Shiro flinched, looking at Lance with an expression that reminded Lance far too much like a hurt puppy. Lance held his hands up in defeat, backing away from the doorway to the kitchen.

“I'm sorry,” Shiro sighed. “It's just been a tough– a tough time.”

“You were gone all day,” Lance replied. Shiro jerked, staring at Lance in shock. “I don't know what happened, but it's been a long day.”

“One day?” Shiro asked, his voice small. “It's just been– one day? That's it?”

“Yeah?” Lance nodded, brow furrowing in concern. “Is everything alright?”

“I– maybe?” Shiro shook his head, turning toward the bathroom. “Maybe I should get cleaned up.”

“Hey.” Lance moved forward, crossing the room to– to what? Lance wasn't sure. “It's alright. I'm here. You're not alone.”

“That's not–” Shiro kept shaking his head, stepping away from Lance, toward the bathroom. “I should really get cleaned up. It's– it'd be nice to feel clean after–”

Shiro cut off, almost running into the bathroom. Lance watched him go with a sad expression, and blinked when he realized that Shiro hadn't taken any clothes with him.

“Oh man,” Lance groaned, stepped back to flop onto the bed. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What is my life now?”

The room left no answer for him, and Lance laid there, staring up at the ceiling, going over what questions he had. It had been one day since he'd married Shiro, and already it felt like forever. His stomach grumbled for food, and Lance winced, ignoring the hunger pang. He was a newlywed now, he could wait until Shiro was clean before going after the leftovers of the alien turkey. Shiro was a part of his family now, and family meant they shared meals together.

Soon—too soon for Lance's liking, he expected Shiro to take a long time to bathe—Shiro emerged, drying off with a towel—and fully exposed for anyone to see. Lance squeaked, face flushing beet red as he turned his gaze up onto the ceiling, his mind running a million miles from the sight of Shiro's... _everything_.

A small part of his mind realized that, with Shiro's year spent among the Galra, it confirmed that they truly didn't have an ounce of modesty.

Above it all, Lance focused on the second part of Shiro that had drawn his eye—the scars. They were small, scattered all over Shiro, and Lance dared to look again, now that Shiro had turned his back. Beyond the taut butt, there were half a dozen long lines crisscrossed around Shiro's shoulders. To one side, low on the ribs, was a bite mark, twice the size of a human mouth but looking like it had come from a shark, the circle jagged and making Lance's blood run cold in sympathy. There were smaller scars too, little lines that, Lance knew, were made from weapons.

Shiro turned around to face Lance as he pulled on a shirt, and Lance's gaze lowered. Three lines dragged in parallel up Shiro's right shin, vanishing as he pulled on a pair of pants.

“Are you going to keep staring at me?” Shiro asked, eyebrow raised questioningly. Lance felt his face heat in flush.

“Food!” Lance yelped, startling Shiro and himself. He scrambled off the bed, falling to the floor before crawling back into standing. “I just– dinner was– we should... food. Eat. The food. Which is... in the kitchen. Where the food is.”

Shiro blinked at Lance, nonplussed, and gave him a once-over. “Okay then. Are you coming along or do you need a minute?”

“I'm coming!” Lance squeaked, before turning a deeper shade of red. Hurriedly he added, “To the kitchen to eat dinner!”

Once they were at the table, Lance had calmed down enough to focus on the question that had been burning in his mind all day.

“So what do you do here?” Lance asked. Shiro paused, looking up at Lance wide-eyed. “I just– you were introduced as me getting married to the empire's greatest fighter. So do you fight in their army or something?”

“Or something,” Shiro replied at length. He looked at Lance intensely, frowning. “Can you tell me about Earth?”

“What?” Lance blinked at the subject change, and frowned back at Shiro. “Shiro, I asked a question.”

“So did I,” Shiro replied. “Can you tell me about Earth?”

“I can,” Lance said, still frowning. He didn't like the subject change, wishing Shiro would be honest to him like he had been before. They were married now, and they had each other's backs. Lance would be there for Shiro just like Shiro would be there for Lance.

Shiro nodded to himself. “How long has it been? Since– since the Kerberos expedition.”

“It's been,” Lance paused to do the math, going over it with his fingers, “about two years since it was labeled lost? Yeah, two years.”

“Two years,” Shiro breathed, looking down at his plate of food in disbelief. “Two years. It's just been two years.”

Lance quieted down, realizing how it must seem from Shiro's perspective—stolen away from a mission that should have taken six months and kept from seeing his planet, from standing beneath his sun and standing on real earth, from standing on Earth. As much as he wanted to know about Shiro's time with the Galra, as much as he wanted to know if what Shiro said about the Galra was true, there was still that point.

Lance had gotten the chance to say his goodbyes and make his peace with knowing that he wasn't going to return to Earth for years. Shiro hadn't had that chance, thinking that he was going to be gone for less than a year.

“Would you like to hear about Veradero Beach?” Lance offered. “It's where I grew up. Everyone says that the sunsets are beautiful but I love the sunrises even more.”

Shiro smiles at Lance, softly. “Tell me about Veradero Beach, Lance.”

* * *

Lance chose not to ask about Shiro's duties, and kept choosing not to, for well over a month. Instead, he told Shiro about Earth when asked, and did his best to be there for Shiro. His days were spent with Thace, learning to read Galran script (after mastering the alphabet in under a week, Lance had conceded the fight to Thace that the written language _itself_ was called a script; Thace had seemed oddly amused by that point, although Lance figured he was finally making a friend), and waiting around the apartment. More than once he'd asked Thace about making contact with the rest of his team—either the commanders who had flown up with him or his original team of Hunk and Pidge—and gotten a pinched look before Thace dismissed him.

As it stood, Lance was becoming increasingly lonely with only two others to interact with on the regular. He kept bringing it up with Thace, kept coming up with better and better arguments, and still Thace refused him.

Two weeks later, and Shiro was back for the day, quieter than he usually was. He'd tried to go straight to bed, but Lance wouldn't have it, practically undressing Shiro and shoving him into the bathroom to bathe.

Thace came to the door then, flanked by drones and one of the druids. He looked down at Lance mournfully, like he was about to do something he didn't like.

“Something has come up that requires your attendance,” Thace began. “It's for the best that you cooperate fully.”

“What?” Lance looked from Thace to the druid and back. “Did something happen?”

“Come with us,” the druid commanded. “We are the ones asking questions of you here.”

“I–” Lance cast a glance back at the bathroom. He didn't like the idea of leaving without letting Shiro know where he'd gone, but it seemed like he didn't have a choice in the matter. “Okay. Lead the way.”

Lance left the apartment, left Shiro behind, alone.

Thace and the druid led Lance into a lone room, with an examination table in the center. The druid stepped forward, and Haggar appeared out of the shadows, glaring at Lance.

“Come in, little human,” she said, her eyes glowing a sickly yellow from beneath the shadow of her hood. “It will hurt less if you do.”

Lance looked back at Thace, eyes wide with fear. Thace stared back at him, impassive. Lance breathed out, steeling himself as he turned and entered the room. The door slid shut behind him, and he yelped, scurrying toward the table.

“Uh, if this is a medical examination then I want to clarify–”

“Quiet,” Haggar hissed, and Lance watched as the table rotated, the flat surface turning horizontal. Slots appeared at both ends, just far enough apart to hold hands and legs, and Lance shivered. He glanced at Haggar, who still glared at him. Shivering, Lance stepped up to the table, pressing his back up against it. He squeezed his eyes shut as the shackles closed over his wrists and ankles. “Excellent. Now, if you do not tell the truth, I will know.”

“Not going to lie,” Lance replied, nearly babbling. He opened his eyes to see Haggar standing before him, one hand outstretched. A black ball of lightning formed in her hand, and Lance gulped. “I'll tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“Enough of this foolishness,” Haggar commanded. “Were you aware of the treasonous actions of your crewmates? The ones you call Pidge and Hunk?”

“What?” Lance blinked. “I– no. I haven't talked to them in almost two months. What did they do?”

“Were you aware that the identity of your navigations officer was false?” Haggar asked. Lance froze, feeling his blood curdle.

“Pidge– what? No! What, do you mean Pidge isn't his real name?!” Lance asked, nearly hysterical.

“What do you know of the Blue Lion?” Haggar asked. “What were you told of the Red Lion?”

“The what?” Lance stared at Haggar, feeling like he'd stepped into a universe where everything had shifted to the side. “I don't know anything about a red or blue lion.”

Haggar tilted her head, considering. Lance felt his heart jump into his throat, pounding a harsh drumbeat.

Black lightning lashed out at Lance, and everything went white. Distantly, he could hear someone screaming, but he barely knew who it was from beyond the thick haze of pain that settled into his bones. After an eternity, the haze faded, leaving Lance trembling. His lip was bleeding, and his throat hurt, and breathing took too much energy.

Haggar leveled something that was almost a pleased look at Lance.

“Now we are getting somewhere.” She almost smiled. “Tell me everything you know about the one you called Pidge.”

* * *

Thace held Lance up the entire return trip to the apartment. Thankfully, the druid had remained with Haggar, and Thace was alone as he all but carried Lance back to the apartment. The pain from the lightning had faded into a dull buzz, and Lance wanted nothing else but to be away from the Galra. He had his answer about what they were like – he'd been interrogated just for knowing Pidge, had been tortured, just for the sake of his pain. That wasn't the action of a peaceful empire.

“It's going to be alright,” Thace murmured as the door to Lance's apartment came into view. “The empire has done many wrongs. You should not have endured that, but you did well. Far better than some I know and call friend.”

Lance wanted to speak, but he was too exhausted. He wanted to lay in bed, wanted to be back on Earth, wanted his family. He never wanted any of this.

“You did well,” Thace repeated. “You were strong. Now you must retain that strength, hold onto it. The Blade is with you.”

“The Blade?” Lance squinted up at Thace, baffled. Had the lightning given him a concussion?

“I cannot explain,” Thace said. “It's too dangerous. Just know that you have allies here. You are not alone.”

Thace put his hand on the bioscanner outside the door, and Lance shifted onto his feet, stumbling inside.

“Lance!” Shiro barreled into him, taking hold of his shoulders and looking him over. “You're okay! Did they do anything to you? Did they–”

Shiro cut off, letting out a harsh growl when he caught sight of Thace. He wrapped his arms around Lance, holding him close.

“His time with the druids has come to an end,” Thace said, not stepping past the threshold, not stepping into the apartment. “He will need rest, as will you. I will do my best to send for a medic to look you both over. Ulaz, perhaps.” Lance felt Shiro tense further, although he couldn't figure out why. Did Shiro know this Ulaz? “Take good care of your mate. He's resilient.”

Shiro snarled as Thace left, before carrying him to the bed.

“I'm sorry,” Shiro murmured, gently running his hands over every inch of Lance. “I was being obedient, you shouldn't have been hurt. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lance.”

“Wasn't you,” Lance groaned, closing his eyes and letting his only sense be the soft bed and Shiro's touch. “One of my teammates, he– he lied. Had a false identity and everything. Haggar, she– she wanted to know about these lions and something called... Voltron?”

Shiro gasped, and pulled Lance up against him. “I've heard of it. The other– the other prisoners said it's an old legend.”

Lance paused, cracking open his eyes to blearily look up at Shiro. “Prisoners?”

“I told you the Galra were evil,” Shiro began, looking away, ashamed. “We were abducted from Kerberos. I tried to explain that we were a peaceful planet, but... the locked us up and took us here. Dr. Holt was taken away early on, and the other prisoners we met said that he was being taken to the work camps, because that's where anyone that can't fight goes.”

“Shiro, what do you do here?” Lance asked, his voice quiet. “Who do you fight?”

“That place we got married—it's an arena. People come from all over the empire to watch us fight. If the empire captures you, whether you've broken their laws or they just don't like you, they send you in with the other prisoners. Back then we were– oh, it was so long ago. Two years... Matt was up next. Our group was meant to fight against their toughest gladiator, a murderer named Myzax. Matt was terrified, and I knew that if he went out there he would die.”

Lance sat up, staring at Shiro in horror. The Galra called Shiro their greatest fighter. “What did you do? Tell me you didn't hurt him. Tell me you don't–”

“I had to keep him safe,” Shiro admitted. “I attacked one of the guards, taking their weapon and I– I hurt Matt. I Injured him enough that he wouldn't be going into the arena. I haven't seen him since, so I think it was enough to send him to a work camp. He's safer there than here.”

Lance reached up, tugging Shiro's jaw, gently pushing so he would look at Lance. “Shiro, please tell me you don't kill people.”

“I don't,” Shiro said. “I _don't_. I just– I leave them alive. All I ever do is hurt them enough that they can't keep fighting. I had to win against Myzax because he killed everyone he faced. I hurt him enough that they pulled him from the fights. But it... I...”

“That's why you're the Champion,” Lance breathed, horrified. “You fight everyone and win. You were right. You've been right all along. I– oh, crow, I– Shiro I didn't know. The Galra, they're on Earth.”

“I know,” Shiro quietly said. He pulled Lance in close, pressing a kiss to the crown of Lance's head. “It's not your fault. You didn't know.”

“Pidge knew,” Lance said, leaning into Shiro for comfort. He felt so small, felt every inch of distance between himself and Earth. It was like standing at the edge of an abyss, and the ground was giving way beneath his feet. “Pidge figured something out. He did something, learned something about Voltron that the Galra didn't want getting out. He got out, I think, and managed to take Hunk with him.”

“Pidge and Hunk?” Shiro asked.

“My crew,” Lance replied. “Hunk is my engineer and best friend. Pidge is... I don't know anymore. I thought he was my navigation guy, but apparently not.”

“They got out,” Shiro reassured Lance. “You just said they did. They're safe now. And we have to focus on our own safety. I promise I'll keep you safe.”

Lance hummed, curling in closer to Shiro. It had been so long since he'd been close to someone, and being held was just– it was almost too much for him to bear. He wanted this, and so much more.

“Please,” he whispered. “Don't let go.”

Shiro tightened his hold on Lance for a moment, pulling him closer, pressing Lance flush against him. “Never.”

They remained in bed, cuddled close, and Shiro kept pulling Lance close when he shifted. A part of him realized that, with two years of constant fighting, Shiro had to have been horribly touch starved. And even then, how long had it been since he'd had such intimate contact, even something as simple as a hug?

Lance pulled his hands out, wrapping them around Shiro. He felt Shiro stiffen, then slump into him. Shiro's grip tightened to nearly painful, and Lance endured it, returned it as best he could. They were alone out here, among the enemy, and had only each other for comfort.

Ulaz arrived some time later, a gangly Galra with sharp features and white hair styled into a mohawk. He looked at the two, tangled together, and let out a put-upon sigh. “If you would disentangle yourselves, I can get this examination done faster.”

Lance winced at the small whine Shiro let out as they broke apart. He reached out, tracing Shiro's jawline and murmuring that he wouldn't leave again. Rolling out of bed, Ulaz gave Shiro a lingering look before pulling out a small cube.

“Do hold still. It will make things so much easier for both of us,” Ulaz commented, looking down at the cube with mild interest. Lance held out his arms, waiting for Ulaz to look him over. He felt so much better, a surge of energy that nearly had Lance bouncing in place. Ulaz sent him a sharp glare, and he stopped.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Ulaz hummed, tapping on the cube, and two small objects popped out of it, buzzing in the air as they circled Lance. A screen appeared before Ulaz, and Lance caught the words _scan_ and _human_. He smiled to himself, happy that he could read Galran script. A human shape appeared on the screen, in the same position as Lance. Words scrolled beside it, too small and too fast for Lance to process.

“Well, I have good news for you, Shiro,” Ulaz began, tapping on the cube. The screen vanished, the buzzing objects returning to the cube. “Your mate is perfectly healthy. Haggar left no lasting damage.”

“Seriously?” Lance looked from Shiro to Ulaz in disbelief. “You know this Galra?”

“I am a friend,” Ulaz said, patting Lance on the head. He frowned up at Ulaz, sure that the motion was connected to some strange social thing. “Shiro has been under my care for close to two pheebs now. I have learned much about your species with his aid. I have helped where I can, as well.”

Lance looked at Shiro for confirmation, and he nodded.

“Ulaz is a friend,” Shiro confirmed. “He's been helping me where he can. I'd be a lot worse if he wasn't here.”

Lance looked at Shiro's right hand. Shiro winced, curling it close against his chest.

“I helped where I could,” Ulaz quietly said. “But here, I cannot help you. I deeply regret to say that you, Lance, are fit to fight in the arena.”

“No!” Shiro climbed out of bed, glaring at Ulaz. He wrapped one arm over Lance's shoulders, pulling him close. “He's not going out there.”

“He must,” Ulaz replied. “Lieutenant Thace is coming. He will have more details. I am sorry, Shiro.” He turned to leave, before pausing and placing a hand on Lance's shoulder. “The Blade of Marmora is with you.”

Lance blinked, frowning. “Okay, _what_ does that mean? Thace said it earlier. Is that some sort of religious thing?”

“ _Thace_ spoke of the Blade to you?” Ulaz tilted his head in thought. “That is... unheard of. You must have made quite the impression upon him.”

“Ulaz,” Shiro interrupted. “Don't change the subject. What do you mean Lance is going into the arena?”

“I don't know all the details,” Ulaz replied. “I was told to perform a medical examination by Thace, and Zarkon _himself_ said that I should make sure Lance was prepared to fight in the arena.”

Lance froze, glancing from Ulaz to Shiro in horror. Now more than ever, Lance was aware of how Shiro looked when he returned after days of fighting, of the many scars that littered Shiro's body, of Shiro's prosthetic. He was also aware of how different they were – Shiro had been in peak physical fitness, and had only gained muscle mass from his time fighting. Lance had a swimmer's build with a gymnast's flexibility; he wasn't built to fight, and he doubted he could get out of it if Zarkon had taken an interest.

“I am sorry,” Ulaz said, and left.

Lance shuddered, seeing his horror matched in Shiro's eyes. Shiro knew, and Lance could already see his mind working to figure out a way to get Lance out.

“Don't,” Lance said, his voice not half as steady as he wanted it to be. “We did what we could – you can't hurt me like you did with Matt. Ulaz already did his examination, so they'd know it was you. We don't– Shiro, I don't want to see you hurt.”

“I don't want you to fight,” Shiro said in kind. “Lance–”

“It's too late,” Lance said. The door slid open, drawing their attention to Thace as he entered the room. He looked downcast, more than Lance had ever seen him before.

“I'm sorry,” Thace began. He wouldn't look at either human, and his defeated tone had Lance's stomach eating itself. “In sixteen vargas, Lance will enter the arena in a deeply publicized event. The fight will be to the death—if neither side desires to kill the other, then Zarkon will have them both executed on the spot. He will be fighting...” Thace turned away. “I am deeply sorry. He will be fighting the Champion.”

Lance's blood ran cold.

* * *

They spent their last night together in close contact, knowing that it would be the last either would get for years. Lance curled up against Shiro in bed, unable to calm his mind. In less than eight vargas he would be standing back in that stadium– no, he would be back in that arena, armed with nothing but whatever the guards decided to give him, and about to face off against Shiro. In less than eight vargas, Lance would be expected to kill Shiro, or die by his hand.

Of the two options, Lance knew which one he preferred. He couldn't kill Shiro, no matter how much Zarkon wanted him to. Thace hadn't known what it was that drew Zarkon's interest in Lance, or what it was that Haggar had found in her interro– in her torture of him, but they had all agreed that it wasn't good. No one that Zarkon took an interest in had ever been seen again.

But still, Lance knew that dying would be preferable to whatever Zarkon had in store for him, and knew that he would rather die by Shiro's hand, would rather die in Shiro's arms, than kill Shiro and die alone from some twisted experiment. He also knew that Shiro would be heartbroken, at least as much as Lance would if he won, but at least Shiro would be better off. Zarkon wouldn't take any special interest in Shiro, and he had Thace and Ulaz looking over him to ensure that he would get what little mercies they could afford him.

Of the two of them, Shiro deserved more. If it was possible, Lance would rather that neither of them died, but he at least had the time to accept his death, if it meant that Shiro would continue to live.

* * *

The night passed too quickly, and guards came for them before they had a chance to eat. Lance pulled Shiro into a hug, and Shiro pressed him tight. It was fueled and filled with desperation, a plea for more as much as it was a goodbye. It was Lance's last hug, before the guards pulled them away, dragging them down separate ends of the hallway.

He could still feel the press of Shiro's arms wrapped around him, could still smell Shiro if he closed his eyes. Lance wanted to laugh as he was stripped of his clothes and tossed a bodysuit to wear, the same kind that he'd seen Shiro return home in. It came with a ragged oversized purple shirt, and Lance had barely gotten it on when he was dragged into the blinding lights of the arena.

Lance squinted against the brightness, the crowd's cheers deafening, making him nearly miss the robotic drone handing him a heavy axe-like sword. He fumbled it, hissing in pain when the blade sliced at his right hand. The sword was too heavy, and Lance's grip on it was unsteady at best.

The crowd laughed at his blatant inexperience, and Lance looked around wildly, terrified. He froze when he spotted Shiro coming out of the opposite end of the arena, dressed the same as Lance (prisoner's garb, he realized; they were dressed as prisoners) with a sword of his own gripped tightly in hand.

_Lance_ , Shiro mouthed– or said, his voice lost as the crowd cheered for their Champion. High above the arena, to Lance's left, there was a balcony upon which Zarkon stood. He raised a hand, bringing the crowd into silence.

“Citizens,” Zarkon began. “Warriors of the Galra Empire. I welcome you. Today we shall see if Lance of Earth is worthy of the title of Blue Paladin, as he faces off against his mate, our mighty champion of the arena. They will fight to the death. If neither opponent kills the other, then I shall personally slaughter them both. Victory or death.”

Zarkon stepped back, and Lance shivered, the arena quiet. His breathing was too loud in the silence, and he turned the sword over to his still-bleeding hand.

This was all for Shiro, he reminded himself. For Shiro.

Lance ran forward, letting out a cry of what he hoped was rage. Shiro took a step back in shock, before setting his gaze in grim resignation. He sidestepped Lance's attack, bringing his own sword up to block Lance's side strike.

“Lance, please,” Shiro pleaded, and Lance blinked up at him, hoping that his feigned rage came through enough. “I don't want to kill you.”

Lance clenched his sword tighter, feeling the pain of his cut, feeling his blood make the handle slick, and made another made dash at Shiro, swinging wide. Shiro's eyes widened in hurt, moving to counterstrike.

Lance's sword flew out of his hand as he lunged to impale himself on Shiro's sword.

The lights flickered, the arena rumbling and shuddering. Shiro stumbled back, making Lance's lunge miss. He landed on the floor hard, and when he looked up, there was panic as a massive red lion burst down into the arena.

“What the cheese?” Lance breathed, looking over at Shiro before up at the red lion. It roared, tail lashing out and firing _lasers_ of all things. Panic gripped the arena as everyone ran over one another. Soldiers and sentry drones both ran out into the arena, and Lance saw Zarkon take a running leap at the red lion, which dropped down to land and crush the sentry drones and send the soldiers scattering.

“Shiro!” the red lion cried, bending down. Two figures in green and yellow dropped out, running toward them. Lance squinted at them, not understanding what was happening, and saw Shiro running toward them. The two figures—the yellow one bulky, the green one small—gestured for them to run into the red lion.

Everything clicked in that moment, and Lance stumbled to his feet, running after Shiro. He couldn't believe it—a _prison break_ , of all things. It felt almost like a dream. He pressed a hand to his chest, right where he would have been stabbed by Shiro, and felt nothing. His hand came back covered in blood, and Lance stumbled, before Shiro was there, taking his hand, pulling him along and into the red lion.

Everything still felt like a dream, and Lance came back to reality when Shiro took him by the shoulder, shaking him roughly.

“Why did you do that?!” Shiro cried, and Lance coughed, gasping as he finally let himself feel everything. The terror, the fear, the relief, the– the love.

“I'm sorry,” Lance wheezed, gasping for breath. “I'm sorry. I just– I thought– you're– you could–”

“I can't, Lance,” Shiro said, pulling Lance close. “I told you I'd keep you safe.”

“You did,” Lance replied, pushing past his crying. He wiped away his tears. “I'm here. We're safe. We're both safe.”

“Lance!” The yellow guy—Hunk, it was Hunk, Lance was frozen in shock because it was Hunk—grabbed onto Lance, pulling him into a hug as he started to babble. “Lance I'm so glad you're safe! Pidge—well, apparently her real name's Katie and she's related to those guys who went missing on the Kerberos expedition but she's okay with being called Pidge—hacked the Galra and got me out and you wouldn't believe who we found! Keith! Dude, we found Keith! And then there was this huge lion and we escaped and took down a command ship, and I pilot Yellow, he's a lion like this one, and Pidge pilots Green and apparently we're all paladins of Voltron now, so, like, dude! It's so scary!”

“Sappy reunion later!” Pidge growled, stomping past Lance and Hunk and pulling at Shiro. “What happened to your crew?”

“The work camps,” Lance replied while Shiro gaped at Pidge. “He told me. Dr. Holt got sent to one at the start and he had to get Matt sent to the work camps later on to save his life.”

They stumbled into the cockpit, where Keith of all people was seated, piloting the lion-ship toward a glowing portal. Lance watched it with shock, letting it sink in that he'd escaped, that Shiro had escaped.

Shiro sidled up to Lance, twining their fingers together.

“He called me the Blue Paladin,” Lance mumbled in a daze. “Does that make me a part of this Voltron?”

“We'll we're going to find out,” Keith replied, turning to look up at Lance before settling his gaze on Shiro. Keith wore armor the same as Pidge and Hunk, but he was dressed in red. “The Blue Lion's back on Earth. The Princess and Coran have been readying the Castle to fly there for the last couple days.”

“We're going back to Earth?” Shiro asked, his voice small. Lance squeezed his hand, and Shiro looked over at Lance in a daze. Lance smiled back, and Shiro started laughing. “We're going back to Earth.”

“We're going to save the Earth,” Lance repeated, beginning to laugh himself. Shiro looked at Lance for a moment before gently cupping his face. Hunk gasped, and Keith and Pidge made twin cries of surprise as Shiro leaned down and gently pressed his lips against Lance's.

The kiss was short, and soft, and left Lance dizzy. He blinked up at Shiro, who looked just as shocked and dazed as Lance felt, and leaned up to kiss Shiro again, for longer this time.

It wouldn't be the last time. Lance was going to make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Once again, PLEASE ENJOY THIS AMAZING ARTWORK THAT GOES WITH THIS FIC: https://corgioki.tumblr.com/post/166644462167/my-first-set-of-pieces-for-the-shance-big-bang


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